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A Chance Collision in Kaon
What a difference good repairs can make. Bloodhound is putting her new lease on life to use in what for her is a big way. The gold and rust colored dawn finds the white and brown femme stepping off a night shuttle into the dark and rust-blasted streets of Kaon. From the Dead End to the Badlands, someone's really moving up in the world... As she surveys her surroundings, the scienceformer's nose twitches incessantly to take in all the new smells and a hand goes over her audioceptor as a freighter flies by. Bloodhound winces both at the volume and the scents, liking neither. While not quite as distinctive as the half-assembled pile of scrap she used to be, the femme now stands out for completely different reasons: she's in good repair, almost freshly painted, and there's not a thruster or tire to be found on her frame. That and as she picks a direction at random to begin walking, the intellectual-apparent has no clue where she's going. Then again she does have claws - in Kaon that might count for something. Speaking of good repairs, Blast Off certainly needed some. The shuttleformer suffered some major damage not long ago in the jaws of Sky Lynx. After extensive repairs he is back on his feet, though he's still not quite in fighting shape. His nearly severed arm was reattached, his torso stitched back together. In fact, ironically enough, he was perhaps the first to be repaired using the nanolathe he and the other Combaticons stole from Perihex- the very reason Blast Off got so damged in the first place. Good thing they were successful, then. For now, the shuttleformer is taking it easy. He got tired of medbay, so once he was cleared to get out of there he decided to stretch his legs some. He walks slowly along one of Kaon's streets- his step reflecting some of the usual grace and agility the shuttle possesses, but with a distinct muted quality. The haughty attitude is muted, too... right now he just feels tired. Scratching at one of the newly replaced heat shields, and still bedecked with several bandages, he rounds a corner and continues on his way. Taking it easy or not, Swift Blade, the ever vigilant, is tailing behind Blast Off. As before, she is making no attempt to hide herself, but she isn't really drawing attention to herself either. After hearing reports of what had happened to the shuttleformer, and knowing a few things about Blast Off's personality and light armor, this seems the prudent course of action...whether he likes it or not. Bloodhound continues her own walk with all the direction and focus of a tourist - which is to say looking every which way almost constantly and pausing at each intersection to decide how much she feels like changing course. Eventually her eastward path will put her in the Sea of Rust so the grounded femme will have to turn eventually. *Clank* "Oof!" Or she could bounce off a shuttle who's a few tons heavier and come to an abrupt halt. Blast Off suddenly finds himself getting *far* too close and personal to someone. The standoffish shuttle is someone who prefers to keep his distance in a number of ways- both emotional and physical. Just getting him to *pat someone on the shoulder* is a /big deal/. So to have someone *clang* into him garners an immediately annoyed reaction. His ventilation systems react first with a loud *HUFFFFFFFF*! as he steps backward in surprise, arms coming up to immediately start brushing away at his chest as if wiping away dirt. "Do you MIND. Watch where you are /going/!" His voice is cultured, with some kind of sophisticated but soemwhat hard to place accent- but it is also slightly hoarse right now. He stands there, staring...and then something falls off. He glances down as a part of his heat shields, just replaced, has come loose and fallen thanks to the sudden impact. Seems it hadn't quite finished setting yet, alas. Swift Blade moves up a little closer at this point; Blast Off should have been named Stand Off since he's such an aloof and proud individual. Personally Swift Blade has no issues with this, but she has realized by now that a great many people do. If this person decides that they are annoyed enough at the shuttle to make it an issue, there could be a fight. For now, she says nothing, but she is standing behind Blast Off and a little to the side, her body language indicating solidarity and support for the mech. Optics impassive, she studies the clawed femme. Bloodhound bounces but has enough balance to stay on her feet. The smaller robot raises a hand placatingly as she looks between the shuttle and... the jet? Huh. "Sorry, I got distracted," she replies shorthandedly. Then a part falls off Blast Off. With her hand already out, the out-of-towner crouches down to grab it and then hands it over, keeping her fingers off the interior while smiling sheepishly. Blast Off gazes down a bit imperiously at this strange femme, then catches her glance behind him and....ah. Don't tell him. He already knows. "Swift Blade. Are you following me again?," he asks without even looking behind him. Now he's looking back down to Bloodhound. Her apology smoothes at least some ruffled turbo-feathers: manners go a long way with the "sophisticated" shuttle. "Well... don't let it happen again," he sniffs, though he's sounding less annoyed now. If she can tell- he tends to sound at least slightly annoyed most of the time. Then as she reaches down to pick up his heat shield, he tenses.... then relaxes as she hands it to him. Well. Very good then. He reaches a hand out to take it, then sort of self-consciously moves a hand to the now-exposed part of his chest. "...Thank you." "Yes," Swift Blade says evenly. "Does this surprise you?" Seeing as the little issue between the unknown femme and the shuttle mech has been resolved peacefully, she steps back a pace. Smiling faintly, she inclines her head towards Spectrum by way of a greeting. Bloodhound raises a brow at the shuttle's tone. "Or what?" She asks directly. Catching the nod, she breaks her gaze with Blast Off and gives one politely back. Blast Off lifts an optic ridge, even though he still hasn't even looked back at Swift Blade yet. "....No." He sounds some sort of mix between annoyed and amused now. Then back to this stranger. And blinks. Ok .... no one ever asked him /that/ before. Um. He stands there a moment, then leans very slightly forward. "Do you know who I am? /What/ I am? I am a shuttleformer. The most elite of the elite." His arm comes up to gesture grandly towards the sky, though there is a tiny embarrassing little squeak of newly repaired joints as he does so. "I SOAR through the COSMOS, gliding through galaxies, riding solar winds and skirting nebulas. I have a vast amount of knowledge. I have seen things, experienced things few could comprehend." He pauses to look down his nose at her. "Including you, I'd imagine. Someone like you should not deign to tangle with someone like me. You would regret it very shortly." As far as Swift Blade is concerned, Blast Off can be as annoyed as he wants to be, as long as he's still alive enough to /be/ annoyed. And the amusement, well, she looks amused at his grandoise gesturing and words, so they're even there. Looking at the femme, she adds, "More importantly, it's just generally a good idea to watch where you're going. Most people prefer not to be ran into." The white and brown femme lets Blast Off finish and then leans less slightly forward in turn - right~ up to that fresh purple paint - and sniffs. "Soared you mean," Bloodhound corrects as she returns to her more or less vertical pose. "Indeed," Blast Off replies to Swift Blade. He is then right in the middle of another grandoise gesture when the strange femme leans forward to... *SNIFF* him. This cause the shuttleformer to freeze and just *stare*. "I... I BEG your PARDON, what ARE you doing?" Then as she straightens again his optic ridges furrow down at her "correction". "....What do you mean?" Swift Blade's hands twitch slightly, uncertain if the femme's words are a veiled threat, or merely an observation. Either way, her optics watch the femme like a cyber-hawk's. For now, she lets Blast Off take the lead. Following him is one thing, but she doesn't want to diminish the mech's impression too much; she knows how prideful he is. "Planetary oils, tin, lead, no noteworthy rust, no exhaust beyond baseline, and no extraterrestrial hydrocarbons at all," Bloodhound lists casually as she looks Blast Off in the optics. "I mean you haven't "soared" in a while. Are you a Luna-2 freighter or something?" For now, Blast Off's attention remains focused on Spectrum. As she points out that list, the shuttle starts to bristle, bringing himself up to full height and puffing up with righteous indignation. He cycles a few vents of air before he replies, voice cold, "That is... that is only because of this /ridiculous/ Clampdown. If I tried to...*soar* like the space shuttle I am, like the very function I was *built* for- I'd be shot down for criminal activity by the Porder Patrol. " He lets out a loud *hufff* at that. "In fact, I once WAS shot down for just that- for trying to do my very function. And I assure you, I am no freighter- I am built for deep space- for exploring the universe itself." His optics narrow. "Nor is that all I can do. There is not a finer sniper this side of Cybertron." He sniffs disdainfully, eying the femme. "And what about you? What exactly are *you* supposed to be?" Oh dear. This isn't going to end well. Still, Swift Blade remains stoic as the other femme speaks as it was apparently an observation rather than a threat. But Blast Off has always been rather sore about his planet bound status. If he /needs/ to be taken down a peg or two, it's never going to be by her. At least, not intentionally. As she suspected, Blast Off is going into full out HUFF mode. Again she steps forward. While she has nothing against this femme personally, she has certain priorities in place. Blast Off's continued well being is a high one. "We can't all be shuttles, Blast Off," she says soothingly. "You'll have your stars again soon enough. Until then, save your energy." Bloodhound regards the shuttle oddly as he vents again, literally and figuratively, but interjects when the jet tries to bring him to an early halt. "Oh come on he's just cycling some coolant," she placates with what might be an improperly familiar sweep of her arm towards Blast Off. "At the moment, I'm much better suited to our environment than you," she adds cheekily to the him, then adopts some of the shuttleformers mannerisms to reply more fully. "I used to ROAM incredible FAR-OFF WORLDS," cue a wide spread of the arms... "Now I'm in rust pits like this one." Blast Off glances at Swift Blade as she steps forward, then raises a hand. "...I know. It's simply... quite... flummoxing, but then again the goverment is ... amess, so what can I expect?" *haughty sniff* "But no, perhaps it isn't." He suddenly winces at some little stab of pain along his torso, bringing that hand down to hold it, then leans back almost imperceptibly as Bloodhound gestures an arm towards him. He's calmed again, though he looks a bit miffed still. He ponders a sharp reply as he mulls her words over, but responds instead with, ".... You and me both, then. This," he glances around at the rust-strewn streets of the mining town, "...is NOT where I really want to be." His gaze falls back upon her. "...What do you mean, you used to roam in far-off worlds?" Swift Blade folds her arms across her chest. In some this might be seen as a posture of belligerence, but to her it's a sign that she's moving her hands away from her weapons and into a position that it's harder to draw them from. "Cybertron might not be much, but for me it's still an improvement. It's all a matter of perspective." She shrugs her shoulders. "You're not the only one who's been disenfranchised old mech," Bloodhound replies simply as she holds up two fingers in a V shape. Blast Off sort of shrugs to Swift Blade's statement, "I suppose. My perspective is- it could use a great DEAL of improvement. But then... I've seen much, much better." His head then tilts slightly as Bloodhound makes a *V* shape. An old Primal Vanguard himself, he finds himself staring at her now. Almost like Whirl might. Except with two optics. "...Don't tell me YOU were Primal Vanguard." Personally Swift Blade has very little experience with the Primal Vanguard as it was in its glory days; at the time she was off planet. She is, however, quite used to hearing about people that were in the Vanguard, so she gives the femme a much more curious look over. To Blast Off she just says, "I know you have. And you will again." The terrestrial femme pauses at Blast Off's outburst and lowers her hand, looking slightly offended at the looks she's getting. "And what if I do?" The shuttleformer adjusts his shoulders, stiffening and straightening at Swift Blade's words. "...I doubt it. Even if they *wanted* me back, I doubt I would ever say yes. Too many... betrayals. Loyalty, service... these things meant nothing in the end. Not to... them." Blast Off raises an optic ridge at Bloodhound, eyeing her once more like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. "...Then... you've seen far worse days than *I* have recently. What happened?" It might be rude, though if it is Blast Off probably doesn't even realize it. Swift Blade tilts her head to the side as she regards the other femme. "You seem quick to expressing indignation and beligerence," she observes. "Is it simply because you are aggitated, or are you searching for a conflict?" Her expression soften somewhat as she looks to Blast Off. "I meant that you will gones again see better times, not that they will involve the Vanguard specifically." Bloodhound sneers as something in Blast Off's reply sets the scienceformer into a visibly foul mood. "If I wanted a conflict I'd have clawed his faceplate," she responds dismissively to Swift Blade. "Politics happened, like it did to the rest of the Vanguard," she answers hotly to the shuttle. Blast Off ahhs at Swift Blade. "Well, yes... I've been knocked down before, but I always get back up and fly again. But I'm a shuttle, to do anything less would be a disgrace to my kind." The shuttleformer bristles again at Bloodhound's reply, optics narrowing again. He leans in just a little once more, reaching a finger to point at her. "Try that at your peril." He keeps leaning in, adding, "Yes... politics that stabbed loyal soldiers in the back, cast aside entire lives and cohorts and trampled freedom and common sense all across Cybertron. YOU ought to know this as well as anyone." Swift Blade shrugs her shoulders to the clawed femme. "Some people like to force the opponent to make the first move for a variety of reasons," she says. "The politics on this planet are...disappointing to say the very least." Yup, she does love some good understatement now and then. "A great many people are angered by the government, and yet they still believe they can continue on the way they had before." She shakes her head at their lack of wisdom. No comment is made about the possibility of the other femme's peril; she's not a medic and doesn't know how close to fighting condition Blast Off is. To bring that up outloud, however, would be foolish. So she just stands at the ready. Bloodhound's optics narrow in warning as she meets the shuttle face to face and her mood swings rapidly from hot to frigid. "Yeah, you better believe I know that all too well old mech," she says coldly. "Yes, and they are wrong," Blast Off agrees with Swift Blade. "This government will only get more corrupt as time moves on. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Those people who /think/ they are safe as long as they keep the status quo are in for a rude awakening the moment they happen to get in the governemnt's way, or try one day to think for themselves, or just see something they shouldn't have." Blast Off meets Bloodhound's coldness and ups it thricely. He stares back. "Then what's with the attitude? Are you here because of the Decepticons, or are you simply stirring up trouble like she said?" He doesn't name Swift Blade specifically. "If none of us here care for the government, then what is the point with continued hostility, even if it's just in the tone of voice and the words we use?" points out Swift Blade. Oh no, she's using the LOGIC again. She has an annoying habit of doing that, as Blast Off will well know by now. Bloodhound snorts in derisive agreement at Blast Off's summary of the government. "Well said." Swift Blade's comment serves to separate her from the shuttle and she offers a hand palm up and a one-armed shrug. "I can't help it, it's in my nature. You're bringing up one of my least favorite topics." "Although with someone who's willing to say *that* in public," she continues, looking back up at Blast Off with the start of a smile. She's still probably closer than the shuttle would like but that's partly his fault for leaning in. "I might have started off on the wrong foot." Without further preamble, the empty extends her other hand to Blast Off. "Sergeant Bloodhound, 4th Recon." Indeed, Blast Off knows all about Swift Blade's precise use of logic, and Bloodhound is indeed standing too close (and partly his own fault). The Seeker's words cause him to pause, however. As does the strange femme's reply. As she comments on his willingness to say that in public, his optic ridge lifts once more. "Of course I'm not. I value my ability to choose, to decide my own life, above almost all else, and I will fight for my own independence to my last ventilation cycle!" As she extends her hand, he straightens again and begins to calm slightly. Armor plates begin to flatten again. He looks at the hand, considers it, then finally extends his for a very brief handshake. He's still not big on contact. "....Blast Off, Combaticon Division." Swift Blade smiles as things take a better turn than they had so far. Hopefully Blast Off will accept the hand and the meaning of amicability behind it. Extending a hand to the femme, she also introduces herself. "Swift Blade." She has no real rank, division, or anything of the sort. She's just...Swift Blade. For now. And, logic wins again. Or, maybe just Bloodhound's return to some semblance of civility. Either way, it's good in her optics. Bloodhound makes the handshake firm but short, holding eye contact. She looks over in some surprise as Swift introduces herself as well, sans a rank, and gives her one too. "Bloodhound." Give a short version, get a short version, it seems. "Now... what was that you said about Decepticons?" She asks with a noticeable mark of interest. This strange femme at least knows how to carry herself, Blast Off thinks to himself. Her question regarding the Decepticons gets a tilt of the head. He doesn't just immediately admit that he IS one- that can be dangerous to do, though they ARE in Kaon, and if you aren't sympathetic to the Cons here you are in the wrong town. "The Decepticons have a strong presence here. They are... freedom fighters, basically... working to bring this corrupt government to its knees. Where it belongs." "That's a positive view for a group with such a body count," Bloodhound admits as her mood turns thoughtful. As the shuttle has noticed, these are more dangerous conversational waters. "From what I've heard from the tele they're terrorists." Now that the situation is diffused, Swift Blade takes up a position further away now to observe. Kaon is MOSTLY sympathetic to Decepticons, but bad things can still happen, so she'll be nearby. But if they simply want to talk amongst themselves, then they're free to do so. The swordsfemme will be there if Blast Off needs her. Blast Off lets out a *hufff* again. "That's the government telling you that. The same government that tells you don't worry, just let us do everything for you, including *think*. The same government kidnapping and conscripting soldiers at gunpoint, installing mind control to force their loyalty, and empurating or imprisoning anyone who dares question them." "Sure, but how much better do the Decepticons treat their members?" Bloodhound asks cooly, playing devil's advocate now. "Righteous or not, they've attracted their share of selfish malcontents. How many of them would betray for personal gain?" Blast Off pauses now. She asks a good question and, well, he's not really sure *how* to respond. He's begun to have a few doubts himself, though he still prefers the Decepticons over the Autobots any day. "...." His gaze strays off to a random streetlight before returning to the femme. "I won't lie to you. There *are* selfish malcontents. I mean... look around you." He gestures out to the street, where rust, litter and the ocassional drunken empty is strewn. "This kind of place attracts the desperate, the guttersnipes who have nothing and no idea how to behave in proper society. Yes, the Decepticons have their share of vulgar riffraff. However," he lifts a finger to make a point. "The Decepticons still give a place for free will, for the freedom to do what you want without being mond-controlled or empurated for it. They don't install spyware into your very optics. No... they may be rough, but they are nowhere as bad as the Autobots." "And nine-tenths of the Vanguard was great except for the ten percent at the top who enforced disbandment," Bloodhound rebuts smoothly. "Even if it's one percent, if you're the unlucky believer that gets hung out to dry in front of the Senate chambers, it's better being an Autobot or even an empty." "And officially neither group admits to spyware or mind control," she notes, leaving the potential implied. "There's *always* some bad pertro-apples in the barrel," Blast Off retorts. "The question is who do you ultimately trust to have a vision for Cyberton that doesn't just include themselves and their own gains? The Senate, which has power and wants to keep it by any means, or the Decepticons, who consist of more... common folk. A bit vulgar and pedestrian, some of them, yes, but the leaders are not. Those common people have come together to fight that corruption. For their own selfish reasons? To some degree, yes. Everyone has some selfishness to them. But the main reason they have come together is for their own freedom- for their own ability to choose and to make their lives whatever they can make of it. Will they all excel? Of course not. But..." He pauses a moment. This is not a tune he would have been singing all that long ago. "...But as I have seen since I came here- they all have dreams, aspirations, and I DO believe each person should be able to pursue their own calling in life- whether that fits with their function or their assigned caste." He can't help but add, though, "Not that caste is *entirely* bad, but... still, people should not be labeled disposable simply because of who or what they are." Bloodhound crosses her arms and strokes her chin with a hand. "If you're not defining caste by what someone is, what kind of definition are you proposing?" Another question he hasn't been asked before. Blast Off stops and has to think about this one a bit, hand idly rubbing at a heat shield (one still attached to him). "Well.. I, uh...I'm not proposing that, say we abolish ALL the caste system. ...Neccessarily." He glances around, because now he IS saying things he doesn't want overheard here. "For instance I believe certain... high caste positions only make sense, like ... space alts." Of course. "But only because the rest of Cybertron depends on spacecraft to explore the stars, gather resources and function as a member of the civlized galaxy. It's important, and the people who make it possible should be treated as such." He shrugs, "That said, I just think... that, well, perhaps get rid of the lowest castes. Allow people to be treated as equals." Pause. "Well, most of them at least." The clawed femme smiles knowingly as she catches the shuttle's not-so-little exception. She'll give him that one but not quite for free. "What about memory sticks that people rely on to carry data or beastformers that patrol or act as courier? They're not as glamorous but they're necessary too - or are they beneath notice?" Blast Off fidgets just a little bit at this, but he looks a lot less uncomfortable than he did before. No, now he can be a little less worried about who might overhear him. "No, they are not beneath notice. They may be rather... pedestrian," he waves a hand imperiosuly, "But they have a use and a right to pursue their own happiness. I have... met a few disposables, and they should have a say in their own lives." Also, technically, as a Fugitive from the law- HE is really a disposable now. he just doesn't want to admit it. Then he looks at her. "...What bout you, what do YOU believe?" "Oh you wouldn't want to hear what I believe," Bloodhound replies modestly. "Even insecticons?" She presses curiously. Blast Off looks at her dubiously, "Oh, really? Why is that?" Then she has to go mention the "I" word. He recoils at the word. It's subtle, but it's there. The shuttleformer was a bit... traumatized by an encounter with Bombshell, and hasn't been fond of Insecticons since. He cycles of few gusts of air through his vents before answering, sounding very... reluctant, "....I... suppose. I mean, they DO have consciousness, so... they ...probably shouldn't be treated as less-than-Cybertronian. I... I even know a medic who is an Insecticon. So... yes, as long as they... behave themselves." Bloodhound regards the shuttle with incredulous amusement. "Wow, you might be the most liberal shuttle on the planet. I doubt you'd like to hear my thoughts on energon-guzzling frames like yours," she casually. "Although if you've got your own frequency I could tell you about it another time. I'm used to a restrictive diet, t's nothing personal." "Liberal??!!" The shuttleformer looks mildly affronted. "Hardly, I just..." Just what? "I just have had some ...experiences here, met people that challenge the way most High Castes tend to see things. He looks down at a piece of litter flying by in the wind. "When you're in a place like /this/ you /have/ to see hwo the other side lives, and.... well, even I think it could afford at least a few improvements." Then he straightens up a bit, looking haughty once again. "DO NOT get me wrong, though. Shuttles are a special breed. We are rare and extremely valuable, and ought to be treated accordingly." he points upwards. "We WILL be reaching the stars once again, and then the rest of Cybertron will once again realize how much they need us." He pauses at her mention of a frequency, then gives another sniff. "...I doubt I want to. However, if you are interested in the Decepticons... you might look around for the Forge- if you can find it, and if they let you in." The clawed femme rolls her optics at the return of spaceship haughtiness. "Just as I'm starting to like you," she mutters. Bloodhound blinks as the subject of Decepticons comes up again. "Who or what is "the Forge"?" Spaceship haughtiness indeed. He gives her another imperious sniff, then stops as she asks about the Forge. He scratches at an itchy bandage on his torso before continuing. "....It is a meeting place, of sorts. The Decepticons keep its location hidden, but those with enough interest can usually find it...." He studies her. "...Why do you ask?" Bloodhound smiles slyly in the face of the shuttle's scrutiny and taps her nose with a claw. "Call it a force of habit, I like to find interesting things." Blast Off mulls that over, his mouth sort of half-frowning, half-smirking under the faceplate he wears. "Well... in that case..." He sends her a radio frequency- not his, but one that she can call should she wish to learn more about these decepticons. Someone who could lead her to the Forge- should she pass muster. "Call this for... "interesting" things, then." The femme smiles just a bit wider as she programs the frequency into her radio. "Interesting things but not another chat with you?" She quips, using the earlier rebuff for a verbal jab. Then the empty pauses as she remembers something. "Although I should really find a good medic around here too," she considers thoughtfully. Her optics drift to Blast Off's bandages. "Do you have anyone good you can recommend?" That optic ridge lifts again, though this time Blast Off looks /almost/ amused. Making progress here. "You call that number, you just might /get/ to chat with me again." Yes, he's admitting to being a Decepticon now. Not that that's a huge confession here in Kaon, or with the (ever growing) criminal record he has. He frowns a little at the mention of a medic, glancing down as he reaches a hand to his torso. "I saw an... in-house medic, I'm afraid." He turns his head, violet optics gazing down the street. "There *is* a public medbay three blocks from here- take a right and it's across the street from the main road- though if you go you'll have to deal with the hardcsrabble miners and various guttersnipes this area can be home to. And the medics are a bit... hit or miss." He stops and looks at the femme, optics roving up and down her form, appraising her. "However... join the Decepticons, and you would have access to... higher quality things. If you're... into that kind of thing." Precision and an attention to detail worked together in a few noticeable places on the femme's frame. While she might not be a sports car or a rocket, Bloodhound's limbs fit nicely, move smoothly, and there's even some ornamental contour to her paneling. As a space shuttle himself, her voluminous chest plates might not even be that off-putting on her otherwise slender frame. Nothing's obviously broken on the outside but then with someone old enough to be in the Vanguard, who knows what's gone neglected for too many millenia? "Well, now I'll definitely have to try it," she grins at Blast Off's reveal. "And thanks for the directions. I don't think a few locals would bother me *too* much, but I do think I would appreciate a quality job..." Despite what some *might* think, Blast Off can appreciate a nice feminine frame, and he DOES notice it- though as a "refined gentlemech" (or so he'd tell you) he doesn't make a big show of it. Wouldn't want to appear uncouth, after all. He does allow his gaze to linger on the ornamental contouring, though.... that's an issue of craftsmanship and artistic flair, and fair game for appreciative optics. "You seem to be maintaining yourself well enough... at least enough to look better than a fair number of the locals already." Which may not be saying much. "But I agree, quality work cannot be beat. Not only to keep oneself functioning in top shape, but a flair of style and an artistic touch adds that extra bit of ...class." He nods. "Not a problem. Kaon takes a bit... of getting used to, but you can find most of what you need here. Well... except perhaps the...class. That's up to only *some* of us to keep alive." Bloodhound sets a hand on her hip and gives the shuttle a few moments to appreciate her "class". Now that she's no longer acting military, her posture has shifted back to its lazy norm with weight focused towards one leg and small slouch to her back. Small bits of oil and dirt are speckled here and there but little of it has had time to accumulate around her joints so far; the femme's last maintenance cycle was fairly recent. "I admit I like function over form, but when something's really good at its job it tends to look nice too," the brown-striped robot mentions. There's another amused curve of her lips at Blast Off's use of 'class'. "I'll try to do my part for it.""Yes... function is the base from which all other things must be considered. If it looks pretty but isn't functional there isn't much point. But beyond that, yes... I do like a touch of class and style." Blast Off flexes his hand, looking at his heat shields- at least the ones still attached. "And there is beauty in simply being good at your job." He goes back to gazing at Bloodhound. "And good. This place can use all the /class/ it can get." "So I've gathered." Bloodhound's no Soundwave but the shuttles tastes weren't too hard to guess. "If you like 'good at your job', you'll come to like me," she adds with a self-assured smirk. The comparatively little sciencformer has a little ego to match - just a little. Blast Off has a little ego, too. (Just kidding, he has a HUGE ego.) "Oh? And what is your job?" His optics shift once more to her form, as he tries to guess her function. Not a vehicleformer herself, there aren't too many clues in her frame for what the femme does best - except for the blocky chest that dominates her frame. It's hard to guess what that does from the outside, but the brown-striped robot's name might be a good hint. Bloodhound taps her nose again and continues to smirk. "Take a guess." Blast Off looks her up and down once more (no, completely innocently, not taking advantage of this to oogle, no, that would be uncouth, despite the lingering glance at her chassis). He looks as she taps her nose, but it still slips past him. He hasn't generally paid a LOT of attention to anyone besides space alt frames. ".... You're not a dataslug." Does that qualify as a guess? The femme's smirk droops. That wasn't quite the guess she was hoping for and her optics linger on the shuttle in quiet judgement as she waits for another one. Blast Off stifles a bit of a sigh. He doesn't like guessing games. His arms cross a little now. "...Well, you're not an obvious vehicle, nor a flier, so...." He tilts his head. "Some kind of scientific class? You don't *look* like a laser pointer..." Though except for that chest, she's almost skinny enough for it. "Are you guessing my job or my altmode?" Bloodhound asks with a tilt of her head. Laser pointer indeed. "Well, they are often part and parcel," Blast Off replies, "Though I suppose I have some abilities not immediately obvious as a shuttle." Like sniper world-class extraordinaire! He sighs, trying to figure this out- but her form isn't giving him many clues. She's mentioned some things that *would* indicate a scientific mind, but.... "I guessed a scientific frame, but really... I don't have all day." (He especially doesn't like guessing games he FAILS at.) "I know there are some microscopes out there, but they usually have a scope on their shoulders..." "The ones that need visible light to see, maybe," Bloodhound clarifies. Deciding to show off a little, the femme rolls her shoulder to loosen it and then begins to shift and contort as coordination between joints and shifting panels reshape her body. It's a short transformation that leaves Blast Off standing in front of something about the size of a refrigerator though not quite as bulky. Her base coating of white fits well with the alt-mode, but what had been orderly brown stripes have now formed a mishmash of oddly-terminated lines where different panels meet. Those were probably after-market. The scienceformer's sides are smooth and rounded with precious little detail. A set of indicator lights and buttons adorn her front, labeled alternately with cryptic and unhelpful symbols, and a seam outlines a sliding drawer that pulls forward. Metal fins stick out aft for cooling and a small exhaust vent provides ventilation. Lastly, a display juts off of one side with a screen and more precise controls. The femme's got a joystick... "Scientific frame is close enough," Bloodhound offers, speaking as a face on the screen. Blast Off watches as the femme transforms, then speaks to him as a face on a screen in front of a blocky.... well, he's still not entirely sure what. "So.... not a traditonal microscope then. I worked with a few when I was in that lab in Vos. But...I must admit I didn't work with anyone like you." He steps around her, looking at her form, hands clasped behind his back. "So... what are you then?" "I'm an energy-dispersive x-ray and mass spectometer," Bloodhound answers as if it were the most normal thing on Cybertron. Her sample drawer opens to briefly expose an internal stand before closing again. "Put something in and I can tell you exactly what it is." The femme reshapes again as she returns to her root mode. Blast Off stops in his pacing to *ahhh* as the femme explains. "I see... yes, so you deal with analyzing light and composition?" The shuttleformer DID work as a scientist for awhile, so he does actually have at least a basic knowledge of what that all means. And what he doesn't know, he'll wing it to /appear/ knowledgeable, at least. "I imagine that has its uses." He watches as she transforms back again. "I believe I have already mentioned I am a shuttle, and that is probably obvious anyway." He sounds proud, naturally. "I have other talents, too..." He smirks a little under the faceplate, "But you might need to join the Decepticons to find out what they are." Bloodhound turns to look back at Blast Off. She's a femme from the back too, although the analyzer still dominates her upper half. "It does," she agrees, leaving the technical explanation at that. The mention of talents gets an amused smile again. "I hope you're not trying to bribe me. You can do much better than that." That smirk under the faceplate grows a little wider. "Oh, if I was really trying to bribe you, you'd know. Consider it a little... incentive." Apparently Blast Off suddenly remembered the "suave" part of being a gentlemech. He then adjusts the heat shield that fell off, reapplying it as best he can before looking back at the femme. "Well, I should probably get this looked into." The shuttleformer turns to leave, glancing back as he does so. "It was a pleasure, Bloodhound." "I never said I was against being bribed," the femme notes coyly. As the shuttle turns to leave, she smiles toothily and waves. "And to think we didn't even come to blows."